Why writing downtime can be a (very) GOOD thing

Creative Hibernation: Week 1

Nov 25, 2024

Welcome, welcome, welcome. Put on your comfiest pyjamas. Make yourself a nice hot drink. Shut the rest of the world out for a moment.

And… shhh.

It’s time to give our writing a little TLC with the Creative Hibernation series.

For the next six weeks, we’ll be looking at all the ways we can overwinter our stories — taking a step back, and allowing our creative brains to get some much-needed objectivity (and rest!).

But we’re not going to disconnect completely from our writing — oh no, babes, there’s going to be plenty of generative, holistic, inspiring stuff to get on with. The difference is, we’re not going to be stressing about word counts or ‘progress’ or ‘productivity’ during this time.

Because we all deserve a period of unadulterated creativity, free from the shackles of hustle culture bullshit, as we mosey our way to the end of the year.

And our WIPs deserve the same gentle treatment, too. In fact, stories tend to thrive when we give them a bit of thinking space.

So tuck those drafts up nice and warm, tiptoe out of the room, and let ‘em sleep while we cosy up with our creativity — no strings attached.

Ahoy there, free subscribers: The first week of Creative Hibernation is FREE for everyone, since it falls on my regularly scheduled Fixion Lessons slot (and it certainly counts as an important lesson in taking some downtime from your WIP). So enjoy this post and see if it’s something you wanna join in with!

Then, to access the rest of the hibernation posts, upgrade to a paid subscription. Otherwise, I’ll see you again next month with the next freebie post, which also happens to be the final sum-up of this series…

I’m gonna be totally honest before we begin.

This series is heavily influenced by my own deep, innate desire to be a soft, overfed, hibernating mammal.

Every year, around this time, I get a desperate hankering for a nice dark cave. To switch off from all the shiny screens. To put my work down. To ignore the calls for submissions and deadlines and literary FOMO. To bid a fond farewell to my loved ones and be silent for several months. To be alone with my little fictional worlds and just… dream awhile.

I think there’s a lot to be explored when it comes to recognising (and acting on) our creative cycles — the ebb and flow of artistic expression — and appreciating the benefits of a little downtime, now and then.

On a broader, non-fictional scale, it’s also important to acknowledge that we’ve all just lived through a heck of a year when it comes to politics and global events, and most people I know are feeling a lot of feelings about all the big, scary, incomprehensible real life things they’re currently holding in their brains — let alone finding time for the imaginary ones.

We’re also living in an era of toxic-productivity and hyper-consumerism, constantly bombarded by messaging that tells us we should be doing ALL the things — bigger, faster, more, more more — endlessly propelled by this sense of anxious urgency that we’re missing out, wasting time, not doing enough.

And then there’s that underlying feeling that we should have achieved [insert last year’s new year’s resolution here] by the end of 2024, before we go ahead and set another lofty resolution for 2025 aaaaaaand proceed to beat ourselves up about it for another twelve months…

I’m not trying to doom and gloom here, but I’m just sayin’ — I think we all deserve to give ourselves a little break and not feel guilty about it, okay?

And what’s the one thing we turn to for comfort and joy and meaning and understanding and catharsis?

ART, baby.

So let’s make some time and space for that, without any of the rush and panic and anxiety and guilt and frustration and shame and whatever else might be muddying up the waters.

Because creativity is an escape and an anchor in the most turbulent of times.

Because writing doesn’t have to be a commodity — and sometimes we need to detach our practice from all the arbitrary measures of ‘success’ or ‘value’ and just immerse ourselves in the joy of it.

Because even if we didn’t achieve what we set out to this year, that’s not a failure. Creativity is not a straight path — it’s a meandering wander along the scenic route. (Which is where all the best views are found.)

Because there’s really no point in making Big Plans for next year unless we set up a decent foundation to let our creativity actually flowww.

Because even if you don’t have the same literal grizzly-bear hibernation urges as me, there are many good things a brief break will bring to your writing.

And that’s exactly what this series is gonna guide you through. An objective perspective. A renewed appreciation and excitement for your work. A ground-up plan for getting the absolute best out of your creative endeavours.

But first, we have to down tools for a bit.

So, wherever you’re at, maybe just… take a lil’ pause.

Why Your Creativity Could Do With A Break

Let’s start with a quick caveat:

I’m very aware that each of us is gonna be in an entirely different situation, at different stages of writing, different hemispheres/seasons, with a different amount of spoons available, and mileage is gonna vary pretty wildly, so please take whatever applies to you and adapt to your circumstances.

Hibernation is just a state of mind, after all.

Some or all of the following might apply to you — but here are just a few reasons why your writing could benefit from a break:

Maybe you’re stuck

Maybe you’ve stalled, hit a wall, unsure about how to move forward with your story, tied up in editing knots, or in such a mess that you’re not even sure it’s working at all.

The perfect time to take a step back and get some perspective.

‘Cause otherwise you’re just gonna keep pushing on a door that’s marked ‘pull’. You’re gonna burn your story out. And if you carry on going round in tiny, frustrated circles, all you’re creating are more negative feelings towards your work, your writing, yourself.

Which ain’t gonna do anything or anybody any dang good.

Maybe you’re feeling disconnected from your creativity

Do you ever have a burning urge to write, but when you sit down to do it you just… don’t? Can’t? Stare at the page and wonder what the fuck is wrong with your brain?

Do you have all these great ideas but feel like there’s a vast chasm between the concept and the actual creating?

Do you ever feel like you’ve lost sight of the fun in your writing?

A lot of my work as an editor and mentor really has nothing to do with the actual writing itself — it’s to do with the writer. How they work best. How they connect with their story. What they’re really trying to say.

You figure that out, and you’re away.

But, to figure that out, sometimes you need to take a step back and take stock, first.

Maybe you’re actually doing fine, but a lil’ hibernation could still do you some good

I believe creativity comes in waves and cycles — sometimes you can be in full flow, everything’s gravy, you’re a writing machine, and then… the dreaded dry spell. Or you hit a snag and everything falls flat. Or you just can’t sustain the output.

Actually, what I think is happening is that we’re moving through natural phases of feast and famine, hibernation and, uh… procreation? Basically, for every prolific springtime of writing, there’s naturally gonna be an autumnal lull, and our brains need those periods of pause and percolation to prepare for the next season.

Plus, however well a project is going, there’s never really a bad time to take a minute to have a check-in with where you’re at and where you’re headed.

Double plus, sometimes by stopping before you really want to and creating a sense of scarcity, you start building a stronger desire and sense of anticipation to get going again. A bit like… tantric writing? (Hmm, maybe we’ll explore that later.)

The point is, wherever you’re at — fear not the downtime.

Welcome it.

Silence any inner critic who’s whispering that hibernation = laziness…

Because GOOD THINGS happen when you give your writing a break

Sometimes you really can’t see the wood for the trees. Or the trees for the wood. Sometimes you need to exit the forest entirely.

Sometimes, when you’re feeling stuck, you just need to put your WIP down and accept that things aren’t working right now.

And trust that, in time, it’ll start moving again.

*she’ll move when she’s good ‘n’ fucken ready, thank you*

Getting some distance from a piece of work lets you be more objective about what the problem actually is and what’s needed to fix it.

And not all writing happens on the page.

A lot of it happens while we’re just going about our regular lives, daydreaming about our stories. Or thinking about something entirely unrelated. Or just doing the washing up.

Sometimes magical solutions appear when we start to look at the whole instead of super-zoomed-in to our writing; when we allow ourselves the time and space to experiment and ponder and explore our ideas, without trying to get things ‘right’.

Time, distance and objectivity might help you find alternative routes through your story.

Or it might enable you to be brutally honest about what’s working and what’s not, and discover ways to adapt, change, or move on.

Either way, leaving your creativity on a gentle simmer while your subconscious does the important work in the background can produce absolute gold — fresh ideas, previously unseen connections, brand spanking new perspectives.

And you simply cannot get that by continuing to push on through, or banging your head against the keyboard.

Example #1: I spent years writing a novel I really believed in. I still do, actually. I love that story. But I’m not writing it right now. I overplanned and overwrote it to death, and I couldn’t see a single damn twig in amongst all the wood and the trees. I agonised over shelving it — even temporarily — because it felt like such a sunk cost. Because I wanted it to be right. But I eventually did, and in that moment of letting it go, I realised why it wasn’t working. I could see the all the puzzle pieces slotting together. I could see exactly how to rewrite it, from the ground up. And I also felt absolutely no urgency to do so. Which was… kinda peaceful. I’m 99.99% sure I will go back to it, when there’s enough distance between us, but now is not the time and that’s fine with me. Just finding that objectivity was 101% worth it.
Example #2: All the while I was futzing around with the non-working novel, I secretly wished I was working on another project — one I had been quietly and patiently researching for years. But I repeatedly convinced myself I had to finish the novel before I could allow myself to move onto something else — which was ultimately bollocks, because the moment I put the novel down and took up the new story, things started rocketing forward. That was also largely to do with the fact that I’d spent so long in such an unrushed, curious, casual kind of relationship with my story. It had had time to germinate and fertilise at its own pace. So when the moment was finally right, it was ripe and ready to grow.

All this to say: don’t be afraid to take as much as time as you need.

Creativity is a self-perpetuating, renewable energy. It’s never truly lying dormant. It’s just waiting for the next phase.

Which is why I’ve dubbed this process ‘hibernation’. We let seeds and plants and trees overwinter without calling them lazy, right? And animals know exactly when to stuff themselves silly, crawl under a nice big pile of leaves and sleep for a few months.

So why shouldn’t we give our creativity the same due?

Creative Hibernation Task #1: Let it be

Your first task is arguably the easiest and hardest of this whole series.

Take a deep breath.

I’m gonna need you to just let your writing be. Let it lie. Let it go. Put it down.

Maybe just for today. Maybe… this whole week?

See how that feels.

See how your creativity reacts when you stop bossing it around.

See what happens when you actively and willingly take a pause.

And make sure you acknowledge the autonomy in doing so.

‘Cause this is very different to the usual: “argh, I don’t have time to write,” or “I’m just not making progress,” or “I can’t figure this story out.”

Instead, it’s a completely guilt-free decision to let go of any urgency or requirement to write at all this week.

[Don’t panic: In subsequent posts we’re going to delve into a whole load of practical things we can do to bolster and foster our creativity during this time, but first, I really do invite you to just pause.]

So, what exactly are you supposed to do with yourself this week?

Well, rather than any intentional writing, I encourage you to…

Make creative space:

Clear your head of any ‘shoulds’, ‘musts’, ‘ought tos’, ‘need tos’, deadlines, word targets, or anything else that turns ART into WORK.

Listen to your creative intuition.

Let it come to you, in whatever form it wants to.

Whether that’s reading a damn good book, journaling, listening to music, cooking, going for a wandering walk, napping, crafting, watching a show. Whatever fills your cup.

Let your delicate, squishy little creative brain wander wherever the hell it wants to.

By all means, DAYDREAM about your stories and ideas as much as you like. But only if they happen to drift into your head.

Otherwise, let them be. Rest those fiction muscles.

And only put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard if you feel an irresistible urge to do so.

If you don’t write a single word this week. TOTALLY FINE.

But as you take your pause, try to observe the effects of letting go and think about this question:

“What does it feel like to put your writing down?”

Scary? A relief? Weird? Naughty? Freeing? Frustrating?

All valid. All interesting to explore and discuss. And I very much welcome you to do just that.

Please share in the comments:

What are you working on?
Why are you hibernating?
How does it feel?
And what do you want to get out of this whole hibernation thang?